


At Your Doorstep

by absofruitlynot



Category: Psych (TV 2006)
Genre: Episode: s04e16 Mr. Yin presents ..., F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-02-23 11:10:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23710564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/absofruitlynot/pseuds/absofruitlynot
Summary: And maybe he’s been putting this off, wanting to be able to do it right. But now here he is – sitting on the curb in front of Juliet’s place, watching as Lassie’s car approaches.
Relationships: Juliet O'Hara/Shawn Spencer
Comments: 2
Kudos: 36





	At Your Doorstep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AAVasconcelo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AAVasconcelo/gifts).



> Just a little thing, based on a prompt by AAVasconcelo : After Jules is rescued from Mr. Ying's kidnap. Shawn runs to be with her after all the events and, again feel free to let your emotions flow and bring up the sensible and caring Shawn we all know he is. 
> 
> Obviously I chose the prompt with the most melodramatic potential!!

He has no idea what time it is – it could be nine in the morning or seven at night – but it’s the soonest he could get away, after hours of questions and briefings and debriefings. And maybe he’s been putting this off, wanting to be able to do it right. But now here he is – sitting on the curb in front of Juliet’s place, watching as Lassie’s car approaches.

Lassiter gets out first, and fixes him with a look that isn’t cold, exactly, but it’s not quite warm either. Shawn holds his gaze for a moment, then Lassie nods and turns to walk to the passenger side. He goes for the door but Juliet beats him to it, stepping out with her shoulders set and an exhausted slope to her whole body. She takes a deep breath when she sees him, and Shawn wonders for about the fortieth time whether this was the right thing to do. She turns to Lassiter, puts her hand on his arm briefly, and says something that Shawn can’t hear. Lassiter nods at her, then briefly to Shawn, then gets back into his car. Juliet gestures for Shawn to follow her, walking past him as he scrambles up from the curb.

They enter her apartment in silence and he watches her go through what must be a reflexive ritual of hers – keys on the hook, holster on the shelf, purse on the counter. He wonders where the blazer would go, if she hadn’t shed it at some point between the tower and here. She turns to him.

“How is – how is Abigail?”

“She’s fine, she’s… good. We wrapped her up in a blanket and sent her on home to her parents. Well, she sent herself, really, but she’s home, safe.” He can hear the forced casual note in his voice, and he’s sure she can too. But she smiles at him as if she doesn’t, and he’s about to ask her how she is when she cuts him off.

“I need to –” she gestures at herself, hands beginning to tremble. He reaches out and touches her wrist lightly. “Of course, go ahead. Take your time. I’ll be here.” He pauses. “If you want me to be.”

She nods.

* * *

While she’s showering, he wills himself not to look around and notice things. Not her pictures, not the way her books are arranged on the shelf, not the well-used mugs on her drying rack. It seems too intimate, right now, too invasive, so he’s holding himself back in a way that surprises him. He tries to busy himself in other ways; he waters the plants on the windowsill, checks his phone, and fills a bowl for a cat that has yet to show itself. He eventually sits down on the sofa only to jump immediately back up when Juliet emerges from her room, showered and scrubbed of all traces of Kim Novak.

The set of her shoulders has eased and the breath she takes in when she meets his gaze is softer this time. They stand like this for a moment, oddly formal, and he can’t help but take a short step in her direction. To his surprise, she is the one who closes the distance between them and folds herself against his chest. He holds her there, breathing her in, willing the relief, the penitence, the sorrow to seep through his skin and into hers.

She pulls her head back slightly, wrinkling her nose and her brow. “You smell like a tackle shop.”

He laughs, a little hollowly. His heart suddenly feels like it's too big for his chest, and he pulls away, gently. “Here, sit, I’ll get you something to, ah, something to drink.” Without meeting her eyes, he moves into the kitchen and takes two beers from the fridge.

He settles in next to her on the sofa – maybe a little too close. They can’t seem to look at each other now, after that small burst of emotion earlier, so they concentrate on nursing their drinks and sit in nearly companionable silence for a few minutes. He doesn’t know why but he’s doing it again – refusing to read her, trying to have this conversation like they were just two people.

(As if they could, today – ever.)

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

“No, Shawn – "

“No, I am. I hate that he made me – made me choose. And you have to know that I – "

“But you saved the girl.”

“Yeah.” He smiles. “And I sent my best guy.”

She nods in agreement. “He was very heroic.”

Shawn can feel the tension easing out of him. It was a small, gentle joke, but it was a joke, and there is lightness in her eyes again.

And she doesn’t blame him.

He hadn’t been able to listen when they tried to tell him exactly what had happened to her – what had almost happened. He’ll want to know, soon, but not now when he hasn’t slept and he can anticipate what kind of dreams already await him once he does. His lungs and voice are still raw from the diving and the shouting and the fear, and when he closes his eyes he still feels like he’s in it, two steps behind, risking lives that aren’t his to risk. So it’s partially self-preservation that keeps him from asking if she wants her to talk about it, however gently, however much he knows they both need to face it – but he can’t imagine that she’d want to, anyway, and there would be time.

Her eyes are closed and the furrow in her brow is deepening again, so he impulsively reaches one hand to cover hers where they rest carefully on her knees, and the other to the back of her neck to draw her into his shoulder.

“You’re okay,” he says, softly. She shifts closer, sighs into him. 

She hasn’t cried, so he won’t either.

**Author's Note:**

> title is, of course, from the Band of Horses song from the end of the episode.


End file.
